


seasons of love

by alyciaclebnam



Category: Fifth Harmony (Band)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 22:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5603041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyciaclebnam/pseuds/alyciaclebnam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lauren was simply heading out of the tattoo parlour on her break; she didn’t intentionally set out to draw the girl standing outside the flower shop next door. She’s always been a sucker for a cute smile though, and it just so happens to be love at first sketch.</p>
<p>Flower shop/tattoo parlour AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	seasons of love

It takes four seasons – summer, autumn, winter _and_ spring – for Lauren to realise that she’s been dating Camila all along.

***

Lauren wipes anti-bacterial ointment across the newly inked tattoo, and then proceeds to cover it with a bandage. When everything is done, she smiles brightly at her client and begins the usual spiel about the basics of aftercare.

“Since it’s technically an open wound, you don’t want any bacteria getting in there, so keep that bandage on for at least two hours. When the two hours are up, you should gently wash the area with your hands using lukewarm water and plain soap. Pat it dry with a paper towel – don’t rub, because that will excessively irritate the skin – and leave it uncovered for a half hour or so; this will just allow the tattoo to breathe for a bit. When that’s all done, you can apply a little antibacterial ointment – I can give you a list of recommended brands – and you’ll be home free! You’ll have to repeat this process at least three times a day for about a week, or until the tattoo starts scabbing over, then you can switch to using a plain moisturiser instead of the ointment.”

The client – a girl who is barely legal (but definitely _actually_ legal, because Lauren runs a reputable business, thank you very much) – merely looks at her with wide eyes. She fights the urge to laugh, because it’s clear that the teenager hasn’t taken in any of the advice that she’s been given.

“Come on over to the front counter – we have a card specially made for first-timers like yourself; it has everything that I just told you about aftercare, plus our contact number if you have any questions.”

Lauren leads her to the front counter where Dinah, _Permanent Record_ ’s spirited front-of-house girl, is busy organising an appointment with a client over the phone. One hand is holding the phone to her ear, and the other hovers over the computer mouse.

When Dinah notices Lauren and her young client, she cups the phone receiver to her chest and whispers an apology at them.

“I won’t be too long,” she adds before returning to the call. “I’m sorry sir, we’re completely booked out for the next two weeks. I _can_ schedule an appointment for three weeks’ time, but- oh, you _need_ the appointment to be within the next few days? I’m sorry, all of our artists are booked for the next two weeks straight. No, I can’t just _rearrange_ them for you…”

Lauren grins at Dinah when the client begins to argue. Dinah sticks out her tongue in retaliation. It’s clear that she is dealing with another person who has no understanding of how schedules work – when they’re booked out, they’re booked out; there’s no _squeezing in_ appointments for anyone.

When Dinah finally hangs up the phone a good two minutes later, she lets out a heavy sigh before turning to Lauren and her teenage client.

“The nerve of some people… to actually think they’re _all that_ ,” Dinah says with a grimace. She shakes her head before addressing Lauren’s client, “All finished, I see. How did it go?”

Lauren lets Dinah briefly chat with the teenager, noting how the colour begins to return to the young girl’s cheeks as the conversation goes on. It’s a pleasant reminder of why Dinah was hired in the first place – she has a knack for making everyone feel at ease. As Dinah begins to sort out payment for the tattoo, Lauren rummages around behind the front desk for the small cardstock with the printed aftercare instructions. When all the financial details are dealt with, Lauren hands the card over to her client with a reminder to take care and be gentle with the new ink. Lauren and Dinah both watch as the girl walks out the door.

“Another anxious one, huh?” Dinah says as she observes the girl through the glass window of their storefront, reuniting with her friends who have been waiting outside. “She wasn’t looking so hot before – I half expected her to pass out.”

Lauren chuckles lightly. “Your talent for calming people down is the reason Mani and I hired you to work the front desk – if she fainted, I’d have fired you.”

“I thought you hired me for my good looks,” Dinah says faux-haughtily, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “When in reality, I’m just your prescription-free Xanax.”

Lauren winks playfully. “You know it.”

It’s then that Normani walks out from the staff room at the back of the parlour. Lauren sees her from the corner of her eye but she doesn’t stop bantering with Dinah, not even when Normani passes all the other busy tattoo stations and comes to the front counter.

“I didn’t realise I paid you guys to talk,” Normani says as she nudges Dinah from her place before the desktop computer and begins clicking away.

“Uh, that’s _literally_ the reason you pay me?” Dinah says questioningly.

Lauren grins. “And you don’t pay me at all, ‘cause we _co-own_ this joint, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Normani twists her mouth into a grimace, obviously trying to fight an amused smile. Lauren and Dinah share a high-five for their achievement.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re both comedians,” Normani says dismissively, though her tone is without malice. She jerks a thumb backwards, to the stations where the other artists are diligently working. “But may I remind you that you have _actual_ jobs to do?”

While Dinah protests that Normani has technically stolen her job because she’s using the front counter computer, Lauren makes her way past the busy tattoo stations and into the back room. She figures that she’ll take her break now, since her next appointment isn’t for another hour. She grabs her sketchbook from her shelf – each of the artists (as well as Dinah) has their own designated shelf to store their things during work hours – and walks back out into the storefront, gesturing to the front door as she passes Normani and Dinah (who are still bickering over the computer) before heading out of the parlour.

It’s nearing the end of summer, so the heat outside isn’t as harsh as it has been lately. All in all, the weather is pleasantly mild – it’s not too humid, and bearably warm. Lauren pauses outside the door, wondering where she should spend her free hour. She’s five seconds away from crossing the road to the park opposite the parlour, hoping to let nature inspire her like it usually does (and maybe allow her to add other piece to her artist portfolio), when she’s distracted by the sound of someone humming.

Beside their tattoo parlour – _Permanent Record_ – is a florist called _Stop and Smell the Roses_. It’s a fairly new store, only a couple of months old, at the very most. There is a cute girl outside watering the outdoor flower display. She’s smiling and humming and bouncing on the balls of her feet while she sprinkles each potted plant with the watering can – which is plastered with flower stickers of varying shape and size – and Lauren is intrigued by how someone could possibly be so _happy_ to perform such a menial task.

It takes only a few seconds for her to know for sure that she won’t be taking a walk through the park today.

Lauren crosses the road anyway. Instead of walking to the entrance of the park though, she takes a seat on the bench directly across from both the tattoo parlour and the florist – a spot that just so happens to have a perfect view of the flower girl and her childishly stickered watering can.

She gets to work immediately, discreetly sketching the pretty girl with her pretty flowers. She’s wearing a dirt-streaked plastic apron that falls from chest to knee, covering her pastel pink blouse and short white skirt – a combination that Lauren thinks is either very brave or very stupid for someone in her line of work.

(She memorises the details nonetheless.)

The girl has dainty fingers, from what Lauren can see. She notes that one of them is wrapped up in an electric blue Band-Aid, and briefly wonders whether it was a hazard of the job – did she prick herself while dethorning roses, or give herself a papercut while wrapping up a bouquet? – before sketching the detail onto her paper.

Her dark brown hair falls across her shoulders and back in messy waves, and it is surprisingly the most difficult thing that Lauren has ever tried to draw. The loose curls of her hair sway and shift whenever she turns to water a new plant, and while Lauren knows that any decent artist can fill in the blanks when it comes to drawing objects with such fluidity, it makes Lauren feel foolish – like this girl just doesn’t want to be captured on paper, like she _can’t_ be captured on paper.

Lauren frowns at her sketchbook when her first attempt at drawing her hair doesn’t look right. She erases it and begins anew. The second attempt is much easier; whatever task the girl has begun requires much less movement now, and she is able to quickly pencil in lines of hair that look just right.

Unfortunately, the girl puts down her watering can when Lauren is only halfway done with her drawing. She sighs, assuming that the flower shop girl is going back inside her store, and forlornly resolves to finish the sketch from memory.

As Lauren is evaluating what she has drawn so far, she hears a voice calling from across the road.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure if you were done… Should I stay still for a while longer?”

With a blush, Lauren realises that the flower shop girl has spoken and that she’s asked her a question. She flounders for a moment, because _wow she knew I was sketching her the whole time, that’s not embarrassing or anything._

“Uh, if you don’t mind?” Lauren calls out sheepishly, when she finally gathers her wits.

Flower Shop Girl just smiles and returns to her previous position with her body facing Lauren almost side-on, watering can in hand. Having recovered from being caught out, Lauren dives back into the sketch with a newfound fervour.

It takes a few minutes for her to draw how the girl’s shirt has slightly rumpled beneath the apron, and the way that her strappy sandals bend because she’s leaning forward on the balls of her feet, but she finally finishes the sketch and hastily packs up her things before returning across the road.

Flower Shop Girl greets her when she reaches the sidewalk outside their stores. Lauren makes a mental note to remember the particular shade of her eyes – russet brown in the midday sun, bright and sparkling and amused. (Lauren notes the latter descriptor with a slight blush.)

“All finished?”

Lauren battles with her burning cheeks and nods timidly. She’s never felt so irrationally nervous around someone – she’s a badass tattoo artist and co-owner of a badass tattoo parlour, for God’s sake – and the sensation is almost intimidating.

“It still needs a few touch ups,” Lauren admits. “But it’s almost done, yeah.”

“You should show it to me sometime – when it’s finished,” Flower Shop Girl says with a smile.

It’s an entirely innocuous statement, but paired with her smile – one where the tip of her tongue is caught between her front teeth – Lauren knows she’s doomed. She feels the telltale fluttering in her stomach and curses her crippling weakness for cute girls.

Hoping not to make an even bigger fool of herself, Lauren simply nods at Flower Shop Girl’s request before quickly excusing herself and pushing through the front door of the tattoo parlour. She leans heavily against the door when it closes, eyes squeezed shut and heart racing. When she reopens her eyes, Dinah is staring at her frazzled appearance with a raised brow.

“Too much sun for your pale ass? I saw you sitting on the bench across the road for like, forty minutes.”

Lauren just nods, because that’s all she seems to be able to do anymore.

_Damn cute girls and their cute smiles._

***

Now that they’ve encountered one another once, the universe has decided that they should run into each other as often as possible.

That’s what Lauren thinks, anyway. She’s still not sure if it’s a good thing.

The flower shop happens to be sandwiched between the tattoo parlour and the shared parking lot for both their stores. Now that Flower Shop Girl is on her radar, Lauren feels almost obligated to wave to her through the flower shop window every day as she walks from her car to the tattoo parlour – _almost_ obligated, because Lauren kind of likes watching Flower Shop Girl light up with a smile whenever she passes by. It’s a really cute reaction, she thinks.

They say hello – and the occasional _how are you_ – whenever they walk in or out of their stores at the same time. Lauren thinks that it’s a surprisingly common incident, having happened three times in the last week alone.

And yeah, maybe she still doesn’t know Flower Shop Girl’s name, but she thinks it’s almost better this way – if the girl doesn’t have a name, then Lauren can’t get attached.

That’s the way these things work, right?

***

As it turns out, that is _not_ the way these things work.

Lauren likes to think that she’s somewhat self-aware. She knows how to analyse her emotions, to understand why she’s feeling a particular way. Lately, she’s been feeling unusually giddy about coming in to work every day.

She comes to find that the reason behind her sudden enthusiasm is quite obvious.

***

It’s confirmed when she reads a WikiHow article called _How to Recognise That You Have a Crush on Someone_ and identifies strongly with the points from Method 2 (Being Near Your Crush):

_“Do you suddenly feel like you might like to curl up into a ball when your crush is around? Do you blush incessantly and can’t seem to raise your eyes up from that suddenly very interesting speck of dirt on the ground? Do you suddenly feel like you don’t have anything witty or interesting to say?_

_“The most common sign of having a crush is the feeling that you have a million butterflies flying around inside you when that special someone is around. It can also feel like your heart does a leap when you see your crush and you feel warm and giddy. Do you suddenly feel nervous but excited at the same time?_

_“Do you suddenly feel like you’re tongue-tied? Having a crush can sometimes make people feel embarrassed and like they don’t have anything to say. If you are normally talkative but suddenly clam up when that special person is around, you most likely have a crush.”_

_Well_ , Lauren thinks forlornly. _Looks like I have a crush._

It’s not like it was a difficult thing to do, she reasons. She isn’t really one for hyperboles, but Flower Shop Girl is possibly (read: probably) the cutest person that she has ever seen in her entire life – how anyone could resist having a crush on her was beyond Lauren.

***

Now that Lauren is 100% aware of her crush, Flower Shop Girl takes up a permanent space in the recesses of her mind. She worms her way into all of Lauren’s absentminded daydreams, and even carves out her own section on Lauren’s shelf in the tattoo parlour staff room – there is a whole stack of scrap paper dedicated to Flower Shop Girl’s likeness; these drawings stay hidden and unassuming (well, she _hopes_ they do) in the back corner of her shelf, behind her preliminary sketches for former clients and pencils that have been reduced to stubs.

***

“Is that the girl from the flower shop next door?”

Lauren startles and hurries to flip over her sketchbook. Unfortunately for her, the opposite page also has a half sketch of Flower Shop Girl’s pretty smile. She curses, and Normani just laughs.

“Chill, I’m not gonna call you out on your little crush,” Normani says, leaning against the wall beside the tattoo station that Lauren has commandeered during the downtime between clients.

“But I definitely will,” Dinah teases, rolling her office chair across the floor in order to join them.

Lauren exhales heavily, and wishes that she’d taken over any other station besides the one directly behind the front counter.

“What do you want to know?” she asks, flipping the sketchbook closed and turning to them resignedly.

“Who is she?”

“How did you meet?”

“What’s her name?”

“Are you gonna ask her out on a date?”

Lauren isn’t quite sure who asked which question, but she ticks them off on her fingers as she answers.

“I don’t know who she is, just that she works at the flower shop next door. We met a couple weeks ago when I went outside the parlour on my break. I don’t know what her name is. I don’t know if I’m gonna ask her out on a date.”

Dinah wrinkles her nose at Lauren’s response. “You don’t seem to know a lot.”

Lauren shrugs. “What do you want me to say? I don’t really know that much about her.”

“You know enough to draw her over and over and _over_ ,” Normani says playfully. “Don’t act like there aren’t a thousand pages of her face on your shelf in the back room.”

Lauren gapes at her, affronted. “First of all: that is called _snooping_ and you just admitted to violating my privacy. Second of all: _rude_ , much?”

“I didn’t snoop on purpose,” Normani says defensively. “I know you keep your prelim sketches back there and I needed to find a design you drew ‘cause one of my clients was interested in it; I just happened to _accidentally_ find those instead.”

“Accidentally on _purpose_ ,” Dinah whispers to Lauren conspiratorially.

Normani rolls her eyes. “Dinah is the one that stole your _Reese’s Pieces_ that one time, Lauren. It was when you got really angry because you’d been looking forward to them the whole day and I had to stop you from interrogating all the other artists, remember?”

“When you leave chocolate in plain sight in the staff room, I’m gonna assume it’s for everyone to share,” Dinah says airily, not in the least bit fussed that she’d been outed. “Not my fault you put the box right on the edge of your shelf, logo side up.”

“I hope you both step on Lego bricks for _snooping through my stuff_ and _stealing_ _my chocolate_ ,” Lauren says coolly, eyeing her co-workers and giving a satisfied smirk when they both look away guiltily. “But that doesn’t change the fact that the ‘thing’ between me and Flower Shop Girl is just a silly crush. Nothing to get worked up about.”

“Who are you telling that to? Us, or yourself?” Normani asks meaningfully.

Dinah winks at her as she rolls back towards the front counter, and Normani leaves her with a pointed smile. Lauren shakes her head at their antics and flips her sketchbook back open.

Instead of the page she was working on before Normani and Dinah interrupted, it opens to the mostly finished sketch of Flower Girl outside her store – the one that she drew on the day they met. It was still missing something, but Lauren just couldn’t figure it out.

With nothing better to do, she sighs and resolves to try and finish the sketch.

***

It takes a weeks’ worth of lunch hours to figure it out – and half a dozen attempts to recreate the drawing using new mediums – but Lauren finally puts her finger on what the piece is missing.

She wanders over to the flower shop and stops just outside the door. She can see Flower Shop Girl at the counter, and she wipes her palms nervously against her jeans before pushing the door open.

A bell tinkles overhead as she walks in, and the noise causes Flower Shop Girl to look up from where she’s rearranging one of the many flower displays on the counter.

“How can I help you, mysterious tattoo artist from the parlour next door?” Flower Shop Girl asks, finishing her duty with a flourish and then directing a smile towards Lauren.

Lauren flushes – goddammit it, she didn’t even _do_ anything and it was really freakin’ cute – and she says, “It’s Lauren, actually.”

“Sorry, let me try that one again,” Flower Shop Girl says apologetically. She clears her throat and repeats the question, “How can I help you, Lauren _actually_?”

Lauren wrinkles her nose at the silly joke, and Flower Shop Girl giggles cutely.

When her laughter dies down, Lauren says, “I’m looking for a flower.”

“Well then, you’ve definitely come to the right place,” Flower Shop Girl says with a teasing grin. Lauren’s blush intensifies, because _duh_ , what else was she hoping to find in a flower shop? The girl saves Lauren from mentally cursing herself and asks, “What kind of flower are you looking for?”

_Something as pretty as your smile_ is Lauren’s immediate thought, but she bites her tongue because she’s already embarrassed as it is – she doesn’t want to add cheesy flirting to the mix.

Instead, she admits, “I’m not sure, to be honest. What’s your favourite flower?”

Flower Shop Girl doesn’t seem surprised by the question. Lauren surmises that people must ask her all the time. She steps out from behind the counter and gestures for Lauren to follow her into the maze of shelves teeming with flowers.

“I like gardenias the most,” Flower Shop Girl says, leading Lauren towards a row of elegant white blooms. She runs a finger across the petals of the closest flower and smiles softly. “They aren’t particularly rare or special, but they’re said to symbolise a secret or newly blooming love. Aside from being a beautiful flower, their meaning is the ultimate draw for a hopeless romantic like myself – roses are the go-to flower for declarations of love, but giving someone a gardenia sounds so much more classy to me.”

Lauren smiles at Flower Shop Girl. Like a child overcome by their first ever crush (and definitely not the twenty-three year old adult she is supposed to be), she gets lost in her eyes, so soft and lovely and warm. Then she remembers what she came to the flower shop for.

“Can I have a gardenia then, please?” She blurts out, hoping that the girl didn’t think anything of her love-struck staring.

“Just the one?” Flower girl asks, reaching to take one off the shelf.

Lauren pauses. She deliberates for a moment before deciding to buy two. Flower Shop Girl brings the flowers back to the counter and begins to wrap the both of them in paper while Lauren digs into her pockets to find the right amount of cash.

The transaction ends with a shared smile and a thank you, and Lauren heads toward the door. As she’s leaving the store, she gets a sudden burst of confidence (or stupidity; she can’t tell which) and calls out over her shoulder.

“Thanks, Flower Shop Girl!”

The response is immediate. Lauren stops halfway out the door.

“It’s Camila, actually.”

She turns on her heel then, and eyes Flower Girl with a cheeky grin.

“Thanks, Camila actually.”

Camila’s answering groan is belied by the twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

Lauren winks, and just like that, Camila is the one left blushing and Lauren finally emerges from an interaction with the Flower Shop Girl as the victor.

***

(Lauren returns to the flower shop only seconds later. She takes one of her recently purchased gardenias from the wrapping and hands the one still in the paper back to Camila, who accepts it with a questioning look.

“I actually only needed one flower; I bought that one just for you.”

Camila’s blush deepens then, since it hasn’t really had time to fade, and Lauren walks out of the shop again with an even bigger bounce in her step.)

***

When Lauren returns to _Permanent Record_ wearing a grin, Dinah eyes her suspiciously.

Lauren rolls her eyes and says, “Relax. I just went next door.”

“Ah, that explains it,” Dinah says, laughing at Lauren’s almost palpable happiness.

Lauren sees Normani smirk at her from her tattoo station, where she’s stencilling a design onto a client’s shoulder, and she shoots the girl the middle finger with her free, non-flower-toting hand.

“That’s not as effective when you’re wearing a shit-eating grin, Jauregui.”

“Up yours, Hamilton.”

Lauren leaves Normani to focus on her customer and leans against the front counter on her elbows, cradling the gardenia between her fingers and examining it. The white petals are unblemished and they look so delicate; she’s almost afraid to touch them.

“So you finally talked to her, huh?” Dinah asks, eyeing the flower with interest.

“Yup,” Lauren says breezily. “And I learned that her name is Camila.”

She dips her chin down to the gardenia in her hands and asks, “Do you know how to press flowers, by any chance?”

***

The next time Lauren returns to the florist, she has the framed and finally completed artwork under her arm. It’s undergone several changes, from her sketchbook page to cold pressed paper, from pencil to watercolour. It’s taken a long time, but she’s quite proud of how it turned out.

She places it on the counter between her and Camila, and apprehensively awaits her reaction.

Camila traces a finger over her painted counterpart, down the waves of hair that Lauren painstakingly recreated, across the blooming flowers of the outdoor display, over the muted pastel letters of the flower shop name above the door. She hovers over the finishing touch, the rolled and dried gardenia petals, arranged in a flower crown atop her likeness’s head.

“You made this?” Camila asks, eyes flickering between Lauren’s own.

Lauren smiles shyly. “It’s from that day when you caught me sketching you from across the road. You asked me to show it to you when it was finished, so… yeah. Here it is.”

“It’s beautiful,” Camila says honestly. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I’m giving it to you, of course,” Lauren answers, brows twisted as if to say that fact were obvious. “I couldn’t possibly give it to anyone else.”

Camila shoots her a smile so blindingly bright, it’s well worth the hours of work she’s put into the painting, and Lauren’s heart soars.

***

(When Lauren visits Camila again later that week, she sees the painting hung up on the wall at the end of the aisle with Camila’s favourite flowers.)

***

Okay, so, Lauren is probably being really obvious about her feelings for Camila. But the thing is, she kind of doesn’t care. Normani and Dinah tease her but it no longer fazes her, because she’s fully embraced the fact that she has super huge crush on the girl next door.

So she continues to wave through the flower shop window on the way to work every morning, and goes over to the shop when her lunch break permits it.

She learns that Camila is twenty-two years old and the sole owner of _Stop and Smell the Roses_. She’s clumsy and accident-prone and has a fully stocked First Aid Kit beneath the front counter just in case, but her fingers are nimble and she is somehow still able to wrap a bouquet of flowers without creasing the paper at all. She doesn’t style her hair in the mornings, just brushes it and accepts where it falls, and there is soil lodged beneath her short French manicured nails almost all of the time, but she never looks anything less than perfect every day. She’s messy and uncoordinated and her handwriting is almost illegible, but she laughs loudly and unabashedly and underneath her dirt-streaked apron is a heart of gold.

Lauren learns a thousand things about Camila – which are really just a thousand reasons that cause her to fall deeper and deeper, but she honestly doesn’t mind.

***

One morning, Lauren doesn’t see Camila through the window as she passes by. She doesn’t worry about it too much; she knows that Camila is probably out back designing floral arrangements or watering her flowers or catching up on bookkeeping or something. She doesn’t just work the front counter all the time.

Lauren accepts that she will just have to say hello during her lunch break.

***

Except, Camila isn’t there at all when Lauren pushes through the door at midday. The bell tinkles overhead – a comforting and familiar sound – but Camila isn’t standing behind the front counter; it’s another woman instead, a new face that greets her with a dazzling smile.

“Hi there! Are you just ‘stopping to smell the roses’ or are you looking for something in particular?”

Lauren furrows her brows. “Actually, I’m looking for Camila – is she around?”

“I’m sorry, she called this morning and asked me to fill in for the day – she said she was coming down with something,” The woman says sympathetically. “I’m Ally, by way – I help run the shop when Camila needs a hand. I’ll admit that I’m not as good as her when it comes to floral arrangements, but I do know my way around flowers. Is there anything I might be able to help you with?”

“Oh, uh- no, it’s fine,” Lauren says with a small smile. “I’ll come back another day. Thanks, though.”

She exits the store in a slightly more sombre mood and wonders when Camila became a part of her routine.

***

When Camila comes back to the shop after a week of being indisposed, Lauren rounds the counter and pulls her into an unsuspecting hug. She’s sort of embarrassed at how desperate the action is, and how Camila initially freezes at the contact, but the girl soon thaws and melts into the embrace, and Lauren holds her just that little bit tighter.

Camila chuckles as she tucks her face into the crook of Lauren’s neck.

“Did you miss me?” She murmurs into Lauren’s skin.

“Only a little,” Lauren answers feebly.

Camila’s laughter is loud and brash in her ear, but it manages to put a dampener on her humiliation at being caught in an obvious lie.

***

Lauren isn’t really sure what she’s doing here. She’s meant to be with her family right now, but her feet have dragged her to this spot instead and she thinks that that’s supposed to mean something.

She pushes through the door, faintly acknowledging the tinkling bell overhead, and walks to the front counter.

Camila takes one look at her and her red-rimmed eyes, before gently tugging her towards the small office space at the back of the store. Lauren is guided toward the tiny loveseat in the corner and told to sit, while Camila flutters about making hot chocolate.

Camila eventually approaches the loveseat with two mugs and offers one to Lauren, who takes it with a subdued smile. Camila sits beside her, her own mug in hand. They manage a few quiet sips without exchanging any words, before Camila breaks the silence.

“Would you prefer if I didn’t ask?”

Lauren contemplates her answer. Camila waits patiently, sipping from her mug.

“My abuela passed away,” Lauren says after a long stretch of quiet. “Normani told me to take a few days off. I’m supposed to be heading to the funeral home right now, but I don’t- I can’t- ugh. I’m not ready to accept the fact that she’s gone… not yet.”

Camila says nothing for a while, seemingly mulling over her response.

“The life of the dead is always in the memory of the living,” She finally says, tentatively placing a hand on Lauren’s thigh. When Lauren doesn’t push her away, she squeezes it comfortingly. “Your grandmother will never truly be gone, not if you don’t want her to be.”

Lauren appreciates the words, appreciates how Camila didn’t just offer her an empty apology and that words are sincere. They continue to sip their hot chocolates in a comfortable silence before Lauren apologises and stands.

“I should get to the funeral home,” She explains with a tight-lipped smile. “I’m sure my family is wondering where I am. But thank you for this. I appreciate it.”

Camila nods and collects their mugs, depositing them on the desk. She leads Lauren back to the storefront. Before Lauren can leave, Camila asks her a question.

“What was her favourite colour? Your abuela, I mean.”

“Purple,” Lauren answers, brows furrowed in confusion.

Camila’s eyes brighten and she holds up two fingers. “Give me two seconds, okay? I’m gonna- I need to go out to the back room real quick. Don’t leave yet!”

She comes back bearing a purple bouquet, interspersed with blossoms of white.

“For your grandmother,” Camila says, offering them to Lauren. “It’s mostly English lavender but I put a few common daisies in there to bring out the colour, since it’s her favourite and all.”

Lauren takes the bouquet with a grateful smile, but when she reaches for her purse, Camila waves her off.

“Don’t worry about it. Just take it as a gift from me.”

As Lauren pulls open the door and steps one foot across the threshold, she pauses and looks back over her shoulder.

“My abuela would have loved you,” Lauren tells Camila. She scrunches her nose at the wording and amends herself with a cough, “The flowers, I mean. She would have loved the flowers.”

Camila smiles like she doesn’t believe her, and Lauren blushes despite herself.

***

When Lauren visits Camila next, she notices Camila’s gaze drop down to her bare ankle, where a sprig of lavender and a daisy are now tattooed.

“I thought about what you said, about my abuela never truly being gone,” Lauren says, twisting her leg to show Camila how the stems are entwined together. “I always want to remember her, so…”

“You made a ‘permanent record’?” Camila questions.

Lauren wrinkles her nose at the pun but she hopes Camila can see the gratitude in her eyes.

***

Sometimes, Lauren goes over just to watch Camila work. It’s nice to see Camila in her element, serving customers and creating bouquets with true meaning and making beautiful things. One day, Camila asks if Lauren actually has a job at the tattoo parlour, because she only ever seems to be at her flower shop nowadays.

“I’m on my lunch break,” Lauren says defensively.

“Ah,” Camila taps her nose knowingly. “I’ve never seen you eat lunch though.”

Lauren blinks. “Well, uh- I, erm…” She stalls, because she really doesn’t want to admit that she’s been skipping out on her actual lunch for weeks just to hang out with Camila.

Camila seems to understand what she’s not saying though, and she tuts and shakes her head disappointedly. “Next time you come here on your ‘lunch break’, you better bring food with you.”

***

The next thing Lauren knows, she has a standing lunch date with Camila every day. It’s not the worst thing in the world.

***

“Hey Ally,” Lauren says when she steps over the threshold. “Is Camila in the back room?”

Ally nods and gestures towards the door behind the counter, which holds most of the shop’s inventory as well as Camila’s workstation, where she arranges her flowers.

“She’s preparing for her first wedding arrangement, but you’re welcome to head on through.”

Lauren thanks her and weaves around the counter to get to the back room. Inside, Camila is sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of her workstation, a bright yellow flower in each hand.

“It’s a fall wedding,” she says in lieu of a greeting. “The couple said that they want the floral arrangement to match the season, so basically they’re asking for a red, orange and yellow colour scheme. But they didn’t give any other indications as to what they want; they just said they trust my judgement and _wow_ , this is a lot of pressure for my first wedding gig, y’know? What if they don’t like what I put together? What if I choose the wrong _shade_ of colours, what if-”

Camila is near hysterics, so Lauren calmly takes the flowers from her hands and sets them aside. She pulls the girl up from the floor and deposits her in her workstation chair.

“You’re the best florist I’ve ever known,” Lauren reminds her, crouching so that they’re still at the same level.

Camila’s eyebrows pinch together. “I’m the only florist you’ve ever known.”

It’s patently true, but Lauren shrugs because it doesn’t even matter. “I’ve seen you work, seen you put together the most beautiful arrangements, seen people come back to the shop just to tell you how _perfect_ your flowers were. You can do this.”

Camila peers at Lauren with a hopeful look in her eyes. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course I do,” Lauren says honestly. She gestures to the flowers that she’d taken from Camila’s hands earlier. “Now, you already know the colour scheme you’re working with – how are you going to figure out which shade is right for the wedding?”

Camila sighs and she looks somewhat defeated. “I don’t know. I can’t- the couple didn’t say anything else other than ‘fall wedding with the flowers to match’.”

“They didn’t give you anything else?” Lauren prods. “No subtle hints, no mention of favourite flowers, no pictures?”

To Lauren’s relief, Camila seems to brighten with those words.

“When they first asked if I did weddings, they sent pictures of the dresses and-and the, uh, the wedding venue, as well as the reception venue,” Camila answers, shifting around in her chair and extracting her phone from her pocket. She unlocks it and shows Lauren the email with the attached pictures. “I can… I can decide whether to go with a bold arrangement or something more subtle by seeing which shades work best with the bridesmaids dresses and the wedding dress, and then I can- oh my God, Lauren, _thank you_.”

Camila pulls Lauren into an embrace and it’s kind of awkward because she’s still sitting down, but Lauren doesn’t complain. She just slides her arms around Camila’s midsection and holds her tight.

***

The leaves change from green to yellow to orange and red, then eventually to brown. Camila’s first wedding arrangement comes and goes – just as successfully as Lauren predicted – and they celebrate with a bottle of champagne in Camila’s office at the end of the workday. Soon enough, winter is upon them and Lauren is forced to bundle up every time she heads outdoors.

One blustery morning, Lauren is walking from her car to the parlour with her arms wrapped around herself, fruitlessly trying to trap some body warmth within her coat. As she passes the flower shop, she sees Camila standing on a stepladder on the other side of the display window.

The girl is obviously struggling to hang up Christmas decorations on the inside of her display window, and Lauren can’t help but chuckle. She stops in front of the window and raps gently on the glass.

When Camila turns her focus toward the noise, Lauren shoots her a pointed look. Camila’s shoulders slump and she nods. Lauren grins and pushes her way into the store.

“What, you can make an amazing floral arrangement for a wedding but you can’t hang up tinsel and fairy lights?” Lauren teases, heading straight for the ladder and making sure that it’s stable.

Camila just rolls her eyes. “I clearly have a _very_ specific skill set.”

Lauren laughs and steps up onto the ladder. “Hand me one end of the tinsel, and hold onto the other end,” She instructs.

Camila salutes her mockingly. “Yes ma’am.”

(The decorations take a half hour to set up and Normani reprimands Lauren for being late to work, but she accepts the extended shift with no objections.)

***

“Hi, I’m looking for Lauren?”

Lauren hears Camila’s voice filter through the storefront and through to the back room, where she is just about to grab her things and head to the flower shop. Dinah pops her head around the doorframe and wiggles her eyebrows salaciously at Lauren.

“Your gal pal is here to see you,” she whispers. Well, she _attempts_ to whisper – Dinah’s ‘whisper’ is only one level below her normal speaking voice, which itself is only one level below yelling.

Unfortunately for Lauren, Camila (who is standing right behind Dinah) can hear every word she says. Camila just waves though, and Lauren smiles sheepishly.

“Ignore her,” Lauren says, nodding her head at Dinah. “God knows the rest of us do.”

Dinah shoots her a glare and retreats to the front counter in a huff. Camila giggles, and then they’re alone in the back room.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what are you doing here?” Lauren asks, motioning for Camila to join her on the staffroom couch. “Shouldn’t you be looking after the shop?”

It’s a valid question – Camila has never come over to the parlour during lunch; Lauren is always the one who goes over to the flower shop, because Camila is usually the only one working over there.

“Ally is manning the counter for a while,” Camila explains, taking a seat and placing the plastic bag she’d been carrying onto the floor. “She asked for more hours and I saw no reason to deny her request – she’s good at what she does, and I could always use an extra pair of hands to help with maintaining the flowers.”

“Speaking of flower maintenance,” Lauren says conversationally. “Tell me if I’m wildly wrong, but don’t all flowers die during the winter?”

Camila hums as she holds her hands to her cheeks, trying to bring some warmth back to them after being out in the cold. (There was only about six feet between their doors but it _was_ pretty chilly outside, last time Lauren checked.)

“Not _all_ flowers die during the winter,” she corrects. “It all depends on their winter hardiness – whether they can tolerate extreme cold and wind and all that wintery jazz – and the environment in which they grow, plus how they’re cared for. Winter plants are those that grow and bloom during the colder seasons, when other plants are dormant. Not many of your typical flowers are able to withstand the winter, so you won’t see a kaleidoscope of colours like you would in spring or summer. Winter flowers are usually gentler than spring flowers – you have primrose and snowdrops and _luculias_ … oh and I’ll have to show you my hellebores when you come around; most people call them _winter roses,_ even though they’re not roses at all but…”

(And maybe Lauren lets Camila talk for so long that the Chinese food she was supposed to surprise Lauren with goes cold, but eating soggy spring rolls isn’t as gross as it sounds, not after she’s been blessed with the image of Camila rambling passionately about her favourite winter flowers.)

***

The wind has picked up over the last few days; in combination with the four inches of snow on the ground, it’s shaping up to be a terribly harsh winter. Nonetheless, Lauren leaves the wonderfully warm parlour and braves the cold to walk next door.

She enters the flower shop, expecting to see Camila working the counter (since Ally has travelled out of state to see her family for the holidays) but there is no one in the storefront at all. She calls Camila’s name and listens for a reply.

That’s when she hears the muffled noises – harsh, irregular breathing. She follows the sound into the back room, where she finds Camila sitting on the floor next to a row of wilting flowers. The tears are rolling freely down her cheeks, and she’s stifling her sobs with a white-knuckled fist.

Lauren wants to ask, she really does, but she knows that now isn’t the right time. Instead, she sits down beside Camila. She gently pries the fist from her mouth and straightens her fingers, tangling them between her own. She talks Camila through a few breaths, trying to get her to breathe evenly.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Lauren says quietly, when Camila appears to have calmed somewhat. “I’ll be here regardless.”

Her heart aches when Camila gazes at her sorrowfully, her breathing shallow but steady.

***

Camila breaks the silence after a long few minutes.

“My flowers are dying,” she says despondently. “I’ve tried my best to keep the temperature steady and give them all enough sunlight but… the weather has been _terrible_ lately – there’s no sun and it’s bitterly cold and even the grow lamps aren’t helping much. The other day, I told you that not all flowers die in the winter, but now almost everything _is_ dying and I can’t do anything to fix it because I _suck_ at being a florist-”

“Shh,” Lauren says consolingly, pulling Camila from her self-deprecating spiel.

She knows that Camila doesn’t mean what she is saying, and she hates to see her doubt herself like this. She untangles her fingers from Camila’s and wraps an arm around her shoulder instead. When Camila leans into her embrace, Lauren smiles despite the sombre mood.

“I feel like I failed them,” Camila confesses, blinking tears into the material over Lauren’s shoulder.

Lauren sighs. “You’ve been in the business for what, a few months? Don’t be so hard on yourself. You give your flowers time to grow – how about you do the same for yourself? Learn from this and allow yourself to develop. Maybe you lost them this winter, but you can always try again next year.”

Camila doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t say anything to disagree. Lauren decides to continue on.

“Maybe you’ve forgotten, but you’re dealing with things that are _living_. And everything that lives will eventually die – it’s just a part of life,” Lauren glances down at her covered ankle, where she knows the lavender and daisy are inked, and smiles sadly. Camila reaches up to tangle her fingers with the hand that is hanging over her shoulder. “Who knows, maybe it’ll do us all some good to remember that spring isn’t nearly as wonderful without winter.”

***

The winter months are the coldest and harshest of the last few decades, but when the weather finally begins to thaw, it sets up for what looks to be a warm and welcoming spring.

Lauren is walking through the slushy snow on her way to the tattoo parlour when she sees Camila on the other side of the glass of her flower shop. She’s standing at the front counter and someone – a _male_ someone – is leaning over it. Camila is smiling and laughing at him, and Lauren feels an unpleasant seed begin to grow in the pit of her stomach.

_I’m not jealous_ , Lauren tells herself, because Camila is not some _thing_ she can possess. Camila is not hers to have.

She’s so caught up in her internal musings that she barely notices Ally, who is standing outside setting up the outdoor display.

“Oh, is it finally warm enough for the flowers?” Lauren asks her, temporarily distracted by the sight of blooms after weeks of walking past an empty display.

“Yeah! These are a few of the ones that managed to last the winter. It’s a shame that the others didn’t make it, but no one anticipated such a severe cold season; I can’t blame the little guys for calling it quits,” Ally says, shuffling around some of the flower pots and stepping back to see if it made any difference.

Lauren glances back inside the store and can’t help her but let curiosity get the better of her.

“Hey Ally, who’s that guy Camila is talking to?”

“Hm?” Ally’s gaze flickers from her flower display to the boy leaning against the front counter. “Oh, that’s Shawn – he delivers special-order flowers from the growers upstate.”

“Oh. Cool.”

She gives Ally a somewhat strained smile and then excuses herself, pushing her way into the tattoo parlour with more force than necessary.

***

She doesn’t mean to do it, it just sort of happens. Lauren has bailed on a week’s worth of standing lunch dates and she’s all the more jaded by Camila’s absence. Normani and Dinah notice her surly attitude, and so do all her other co-workers.

Lauren is sitting at the tattoo station in the far corner working on a design for a customer when she sees it all unfold in her peripheral vision.

Camila comes storming into the tattoo parlour, all clenched fists and stomping feet and just a tiny ball of anger. She doesn’t say a word when she reaches the front counter. Lauren sees Dinah point wordlessly in her direction, obviously not wanting to get caught in the middle of anything.

She waits until Camila is standing right beside her before she turns to acknowledge her.

“You’re coming with me,” Camila says firmly.

It’s decisive, and leaves no room for objection, so Lauren reluctantly follows her out of the parlour and into the flower shop.

***

Lauren doesn’t know what to expect, but it certainly isn’t what Camila blurts out as soon as the door swings shut behind them.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Oh. Shit. Camila probably sees all the emotions playing across her face – shock, shame, sorrow – and Lauren throws her head back with a groan.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Camila repeats, softly this time.

Lauren squeezes her eyes shut and exhales heavily. She feels Camila take her hands and hold them comfortingly. She doesn’t know what to say.

“I didn’t mean to…”

“Act like a jealous girlfriend?” Camila offers, and Lauren’s eyes shoot open.

“Is that what we are?” she asks, her tone somewhere between hopeful and hesitant.

Camila smiles shyly and then shrugs. “Well, we _have_ been eating lunch together every day for the past few months.”

“Oh. I didn’t realise…”

“That that’s what we might be?” Camila finishes. “Neither did I, to be honest. Not until you started blowing off our lunch dates.”

Lauren looks away sheepishly. “Sorry. I just- I couldn’t… I didn’t want to find out that you were already with someone else. I guess I tried to quit while I was ahead, you know?”

Camila tugs Lauren closer until they are practically breathing the same air. Lauren heartbeat, once thumping near her stomach, is now pounding in her ears.

“Do you still want to quit while you’re ahead?” Camila asks softly, the words playing teasingly over Lauren’s lips.

Lauren shakes her head the tiniest amount, causing their noses to brush.

“No?” Camila questions. Her eyes flicker down towards Lauren’s mouth.

“No,” Lauren repeats, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I don’t want to quit anymore. I want to risk it all.”

The kiss is chaste but rife with meaning, and Lauren’s heartbeat finally settles somewhere low in her chest.

***

“Why art?” Camila asks when they have relocated to the loveseat in her office.

“The important thing about art isn’t the quality of the work, or how much it costs, or how good people say it looks. It’s about how it makes you feel,” Lauren says, playing with Camila’s fingers absentmindedly. “Why flowers?”

“I like helping others express how they feel,” Camila answers simply. “And sometimes they help me express how I feel.”

“How _do_ you feel?”

Camila pulls her hand from Lauren’s and tells her to stay put. She disappears into the storefront for a few painful seconds, and returns with a bouquet in hand. She offers it to Lauren.

“I put in a last minute order for a couple of these – that’s what Shawn was delivering when you saw us through the window,” Camila explains once Lauren takes the flowers. She then answers the unasked question, “Ally told me that you asked who he was. You don’t need to worry about him though – he might make me laugh, but he doesn’t make me feel the way that you do.”

“And how exactly _is_ that?” Lauren prods, her eyebrow raised curiously. “How do I make you feel?”

Camila gestures for Lauren to hold up the bouquet. She points to two similar flowers, one white and the other pink.

“These are camellias. The white camellia says ‘I think you’re adorable’, while the pink camellia expresses the feeling of longing.”

Lauren smiles bashfully, and lets Camila explain the third flower, a thicket of tiny purple blooms.

“Syringa vulgaris, or the common lilac,” Camila says tenderly. “It symbolises first love.”

Lauren just stares at Camila with wide, unblinking eyes.

“Do you really mean that?” Lauren asks, wonder lacing her tone.

Camila gives her a soft smile, the apples of her cheeks tinged pink, and that is answer enough. Lauren gently puts the bouquet aside and tugs Camila closer, pressing her lips against her temple.

“I’ve never been more grateful to have been called out for staring at a cute girl on the street.”

They share a laugh and another kiss, and Lauren marvels at how much everything has changed in the space of a year.

***

It takes four seasons – summer, autumn, winter _and_ spring – for Lauren to realise that she’s been dating Camila all along.

Maybe she was kind of completely oblivious… and maybe she missed all of the signs. But she still ends up exactly where she belongs – in Camila’s arms – and that’s all that really matters.


End file.
